Bound to the Abyss (21 page)

“Why don’t you head to the center of town,” Cal said after he was done looking around. “That’s where our Healer is attending to the wounded. I’m sure she could take a look at that wound and get it stitched up.”

“No, that’s alright. I’m an apprentice Healer myself, and I’m sure I could take care of my …”

“Another Healer?” Cal cut in. “Wonderful, then, you can assist our own. We have many wounded, some who might not survive ‘til dawn without a good deal of help, and we only have one Healer.”

“Wait, I never said …”

“Charles, Ven, escort this boy back to Mable.” Cal was ignoring him now. “Make sure he makes it to her unharmed and stays there to help. The rest of you with me. I’m sure there are more scum to run out of our home.”

With a nod, Cal and the rest of his men headed off down an alley, leaving Ean with the men that had been introduced as Charles and Ven. They were both looking at him, swords still in hand.
 

 
“Alright,” Ean walked over to them with a tired sigh. “We’d better get going if I’m to be any help.”
 

As Ean walked past them towards the center of town, the men fell in beside him, one one either side. So much for finding Bran and Jaslen on his own. If he had any luck at all, they both will be sitting at the center of town when he arrived.

Chapter 15

PUT TO WORK

Ean, of course, was not lucky. At the break of dawn, Charles and Ven escorted him to the open field at the center of town. Bodies littered the road around the clearing. Most of those in the road were already dead, but others sported serious and possibly fatal wounds. The ones that still showed signs of life were being carried onto the grass. Dozens of makeshift cots and blankets were spread about the lawn, each one holding a wounded man or woman, and tents were being erected as well. Looking over the wounded and dead, the only way to tell the difference between a villager and a bandit was whether or not someone was crying over the body.

In the thick of the carnage was an older woman wearing a dark cloak with snow-white hair down to her waist. She was bent over a man with a blood-soaked shirt. Cutting off his shirt with a knife, she tossed it aside and began to examine the man’s chest. As Ean got closer, he saw a gaping slice that went all the way to the bone. The woman cleaned the cut first with a rag she rinsed into a nearby bucket. When she was done cleaning the gash, a boy ran up and took the bucket away without a word. With the wound clean, the woman took out a bottle and emptied out a yellowish paste that she stuffed into the cut. Ean couldn’t help but grunt in disapproval.

“Problem with what I’m doing, boy?” she said without looking up from her work. Her silvery voice made her sound much younger than she looked. She kept her attention focused on her work as she spoke to him. “And what is that sound you are making? Can’t handle the sight of a bit of blood? Don’t get sick on any of my patients.”

“I can handle the sight of blood,” he replied. “I was just surprised that you would use Nevbane on a wound that bad. All that does is numb the pain. He’ll be dead in a week from infection. If you’re going to use that, you might as well just let him bleed out now. A real Healer would use Flashseal to close the wound and then cover it in Rottwealth. Then a week from now, instead of being dead, he’ll just have a tiny scar to brag about.”

 
“So you have some knowledge, do you, boy?” she said while unrolling a ball of clean white gauze.
 

“I’ve trained all my life.”

“Seeing how our village has neither Rottwealth or Flashseal, and you’ve more or less told this poor man he’s going to die, perhaps you need more training on beside manners, eh?”
 

“Well, I …” he started, then shut his mouth. What could he say? He knew Rottwealth only grew in his valley, but Cleff sold so much of it to the merchant that came through town that he just imagined that every village had some available. And was Flashseal that rare as well? It didn’t matter. He could make things right.

“I have some of each,” he said when he could get his mouth to work. “Rottwealth and Flashseal. Up in my room at the inn.”

“Do I look like I was born yesterday, boy?” She looked past him towards Charles and Ven. “I asked for help, not some spoiled brat. Get him out of here before I add another casualty to the total.”

Charles ducked his head and kept his attention focused on his feet. Ven looked conflicted, but spoke up. “He says he is from Rottwealth, ma’am, and an apprentice to the Healer there. If he says he has Rottwealth, well … maybe he does.”

The woman stared at him for a moment, then waved both men away. “Fine, go to the inn and search his things for a medicine bag. If you find one bring it back here.”
 

The two men spun and began to walk away until the woman’s voice stopped them. “And either way, bring back a few small barrels of ale. We’ll need it to clean some of the wounds, and I’ll need a few sips to deal with all of you fools.”

“Wait a second, you can’t just take my things!” Ean called after the men but he was ignored. Mashing his teeth in frustration, he focused his anger on the woman. “You can’t just take all of my supplies. I might need them.”

“Why, are you hurt? I don’t see any wounds.” She gave a brief glance at the bloodstain on his side, but let out a snort that made it clear she didn’t find it that important. “The people here need those medicines, if they exist, much more than you do.”

“But I brought them in case I’d need them. Not to help out every emergency that I come across.”

“We’ll make sure you are compensated for whatever medicine you have that we use, and if you do have Rottwealth, well …” Doubt flashed across her face and then was gone. “We’ll figure out some way to repay you for however much we use.”

Ean shook his head but remained quiet. What else could he do? He decided to stay with the woman and watch her work. If they were going to use up his medicine, he could at least stay and make sure he knew what they used. And made sure it was used properly.

As he watched Mable work, his thoughts wandered to what she had said about the rarity of Rottwealth. Ean knew that selling the plant had made Cleff a very rich man, but how rich? Most of his money had always been put back into improving the village, so it was rare that Ean saw him spend his money on anything else. If Rottwealth was as expensive as the woman was making it out to sound, Ean would have to be careful with what he said. If she knew he had no idea of its actual worth, she would probably try to take advantage of him.

Shaking his head, he let his attention wander away from the woman and injured man in front of him to the surrounding people. There were dozens of villagers, mostly women, moving about the wounded on the green. Every now and then, one of them would walk over to the old woman and ask a question before returning back to the person that they had been treating.
 

“I’m curious, boy,” Mable’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Would you have happened to learn your skills from a man named Cleff?”

Ean was about to snap back at her in a sarcastic manner, but the tone of her voice made him pause. It had been a casual question, but her tone had changed from sarcastic to dead serious.

“Yes,” he replied. “Cleff has been my teacher for a number of years now. He’s the one that gave me most of my supplies.”

“Gave?” She barked a laugh, her head twisting up so that she was looking at him almost sideways. “I have never known that man to ‘give’ anything away. He sits in his little valley on top of the most amazing medicinal plant that exists and what does he do? Hogs most of it for himself, letting only a little sliver out of that cursed village for the rest of the land.”

Ean could only gape at her. Part of him wanted to jump to Cleff’s defense. After all, he had raised him well, if just a little strict. And the marshes did belong to him, so he should be able to charge whatever he wanted for the Rottwealth. It wasn’t as if their village had a variety of goods to trade with the rest of the world. Most of the food grown was shared amongst the people, and whenever the trader did come to town, most people traded items that they made themselves in what little free time they had.

But then he took a look around at all of the people that lay injured, dying, or already dead. Doing a quick count in his head, he figured his supply of Rottwealth might be able help a third at most of those scattered about the field. And that was just for the ones that were in the worst shape. Many of the wounded will end up losing arms or legs because of their wounds or infection. Infection that Rottwealth could easily keep away. But if all they had was his supply, then that would be saved for the more serious injuries -- head wounds, people run thru with a blade, shredded or heavily burnt skin or wounds that cut into the bone like the man in front of him. That fact tore at Ean’s gut as the thought of so many dying overwhelmed him.

Charles and Ven were almost on top of them before Ean realized they had returned.

 
“It’s true, ma’am,” Ven said, clutching the bag with a broad smile. “This thing is plumb full of goodies — dried herbs, powders, and bottles full of pretty colored liquids.”

Mable snatched the bag. Dropping it to the ground she dove in, routing around the clanking bottles until she pulled out one that contained some ground up Rottwealth. She dumped a small amount of the blackish powder into her hands and began to apply it to the man’s wounds.

Ean moved to take the Rottwealth from her but froze as she turned on him. She shot him a glare but paused what she was doing, her hands hovering over the man. “Listen, boy,” she hissed. “I told you we would find a way to pay you for what we used. I’m sure money is just as important to you as it is to …”

“Would you please listen!” Ean shouted over her. “Applying Rottwealth to such a large area will save his life, sure, but it will damage his nerve endings. His arm will never work right again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Use some Flashseal first to close the wound, and then apply the Rottwealth. Even with the wound closed, the Rottwealth will sink into the burnt skin and fix the damage to the bone as well as the skin and muscles.”

“And I assume you have some Flashseal as well?” Her voice still had a note of contempt, but it seemed forced now.

“I wouldn’t have mentioned it, if I didn’t have it.”
 

Grabbing his bag back, he took out a much heavier vial. The silvery powder inside sparkled in the light of the torches as he carefully removed the lead stopper. He leaned over the injured man, sprinkling a tiny amount of powder along his gash.

“You at least know how the Flashseal works?”
 

The woman nodded.
 

“Good.” He pushed the wound together with both hands and kept them there, giving the powder a chance to settle. “There is flint and steel in my bag. Light the powder and try not to get my fingers scorched.”

Mable replaced the Rottwealth back into the bottle and pulled out the pieces of metal from the bag. She gave him one last questioning look.

“Do it,” Ean said, holding the man down by his shoulder.

She lowered both pieces close to the wound and struck them together. On the first strike a small spark leapt off the metal and hit the wound. A small burst of flame erupted off of the wound and was gone followed by a low moan from the man. Ean checked to make sure that his gloves weren’t smoldering before examining the man’s wound.

A long patch of black, blistering skin covered the man’s shoulder. The gash was gone, the skin fused together by the heat. The old woman grabbed up the bottle of Rottwealth and began applying small amounts to the burn. Within moments the blackened skin began to lighten, taking on more of a dark brown color. The Rottwealth wouldn’t instantly heal the burn, but it would speed up the healing process. What would normally take two months to heal would be accomplished in a week.

With a nod of satisfaction, Ean rose to his feet. “There, now I’m sure you can handle things without me. I need to try and find my …”

“I don’t think so.” Mable leapt up to clutch his arm. “You’re staying right here with me, young healer. My people need you.”

It only took a moment to realize she was right.

“If I stay, I’ll need a couple of things. One, assistants to help with whatever I need …”

Mable motioned to Ven, who nodded and ran off.

“Done,” she said. “What else?”

“Two, I need someone to fetch my missing friends — Bran and Jaslen. Last place they were spotted was the large building in the southwest of town.”

She pointed southwest and gave a swat to the water boy’s back. “Do as the healer asks.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The boy bowed and hurried down the street.

Mable turned to Ean with an impatient frown. “You happy now?”

“It’s a start.”

“Good, now quit wasting time and get to work.”

Trying not to “waste any more time,” Ean moved to the next seriously injured villager without saying another word to the old woman. The man’s stomach had been run completely thru by what appeared to be a thin blade. The likelihood that the man would survive, even with Rottwealth, was hit or miss. Ven returned just as Ean prepped the wounds for the Flashseal. Ean gave him directions on what to do as he worked and then let his thoughts wander.

Cleff had always taught him it was better not to focus too much on the person you were healing. Emotional attachments lead to stress, which lead to mistakes. Of course, being thought of as scum by most of his village had made it easy not to get attached to any that he had helped heal at home. These were strangers, though, and hadn’t done anything to him. Not yet at least ...
 

No, best to keep to Cleff’s teachings and not focus on the people.

The sun was high overhead by the time his supply of Rottwealth had run out. He had worked on a few dozen patients in that span of time. The majority would make full recoveries; a few would be permanently lame in an arm or leg for the rest of their lives; three still might not last the night; and one had passed away. Ean had been right next to the man as he passed. Even after successfully helping so many before him, that one death bothered Ean. It put a knot in his stomach that stayed with him the rest of the day.